Chapter 5

TWO YEARS AGO

The first morning at the De Luca's mansion, I refused breakfast out of pride.

The second morning, I refused it out of anger.

By the third day, I refused it because I had already come too far to stop.

The tray sat untouched on the small table beside the window.

Fresh fruit, toast, coffee.

Enough food to feed a family.

I stared at it until the smell turned my stomach.

Then I looked away.

The door opened a few minutes later.

The same maid entered.

Quiet like always

She never spoke.

Never looked directly at me.

She simply collected the tray.

Untouched.

Again.

If she found it strange that I hadn't eaten in three days, she didn't show it.

Then again, perhaps strange things happened every day in Lorenzo De Luca's house.

Perhaps girls sold by their fathers arrived often enough that no one bothered asking questions anymore.

The thought made something ugly twist inside my chest.

I turned away before the maid could see the tears gathering in my eyes.

Not that she would care.

Nobody cared.

That was the worst part.

I had expected threats.

I had expected violence.

I had expected Lorenzo to burst through the door and demand obedience.

Instead, I got silence.

And somehow silence was worse.

Silence left too much room for thinking.

Too much room for remembering.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father standing over me with the syringe.

Every time I drifted toward sleep, I heard his voice.

Two years, Isabella.

I'll come back for you.

"Liar."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

The sound was swallowed by the enormous room.

Three days ago, I would have sworn my father loved me.

Three days ago, I would have defended him against anyone.

Now I knew exactly what my love had been worth.

A transaction.

A bargain.

A price paid in flesh and blood.

My flesh.

My blood.

The room suddenly felt too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

I climbed from the bed and began pacing.

One end of the room.

Then the other.

Again.

And again.

The walls seemed to move closer with every step.

A luxurious prison was still a prison.

I reached the window for the hundredth time.

The glass overlooked manicured gardens and towering stone walls.

Beautiful.

Unreachable.

Freedom sat on the other side.

Mocking me.

My fingers curled into fists.

Three days.

Three entire days.

And Lorenzo hadn't come once.

Not once.

The man had ordered me to strip in front of him.

Had watched me stand there shaking with humiliation.

And then...

Nothing.

No punishment.

No threats.

No demands.

Nothing.

What kind of game was he playing?

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts.

I turned sharply.

The maid stood there.

But this time something was different.

She wasn't carrying a tray.

And for the first time since I'd arrived...

She spoke.

"The boss wants to see you."

My pulse stumbled.

Finally.

My pulse tightened before I could stop it.

They didn’t drag me.

They didn’t rush me.

They didn’t even touch me more than necessary.

That was the first unsettling thing.

Control here wasn’t loud.

It was precise.

I was escorted through long corridors that smelled faintly of polished wood and cold metal.

Men passed us without stopping.

Some nodded.

Some didn’t even glance.

The mansion was alive.

Breathing.

Moving.

And I was the only thing inside it that felt paused.

Not important enough to interrupt anything.

Not dangerous enough to be restrained further.

We stopped in front of heavy doors.

One of the men opened them.

I stepped inside.

He was already there.

Behind a desk that looked too large for any normal man to use.

Papers spread neatly in front of him.

A phone vibrating once, then being ignored.

Two men stood nearby speaking quietly until I entered.

No one reacted to my arrival.

Except me.

He didn’t look up immediately.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not that he ignored me.

But that my presence did not interrupt him.

Like I was not an event.

Just an item moving through space.

He signed a document.

Turned a page.

Spoke without looking up.

“You stopped eating.”

Not a question.

Not concern.

Just awareness.

Like he had noticed a system failure.

I swallowed.

“So?”

That made him pause.

Only then did he look at me.

Cold eyes.

Not angry.

Not interested.

Just assessing me.

“It won’t change anything.”

Something in me snapped at that.

Because I realized he wasn’t reacting to me as a person at all.

He was reacting to me as a variable.

“What am I supposed to do then?” I asked.

My voice came out sharper than I intended.

“Accept this?”

“Accept being taken like I’m nothing?”

The room shifted.

Not because he reacted emotionally.

But the men behind him stopped moving entirely.

Like even breathing had become optional.

He studied me for a long moment.

His gaze wasn't cruel, and it wasn't soft either.

Just absolute certainty.

“You think I took something from you?”

A pause.

And then—

“Your father gave you away before I ever touched you.”

That should have been the end of the conversation.

But it wasn’t.

Because something inside me hesitated.

I wanted to reject it immediately.

To cling to hatred.

To cling to him as the villain because that was simpler.

But my mind betrayed me.

Because I saw it again.

Not Lorenzo.

Not this room.

My father.

His hands are signing the documents.

His voice.

The promise.

Two years.

I’ll come back for you.

And suddenly the anger I had been aiming at Lorenzo had nowhere clean to land.

I stepped back without realizing it.

Like the ground had shifted under me, and I hadn’t noticed until I was already falling slightly off center.

I turned toward the door.

Behind me, I heard one of the men speak quietly.

“She’s still here?”

Another answered with a faint laugh.

“Boss hasn’t decided what she is yet.”

A pause.

Then, lower:

“Or maybe he already did.”

I didn’t turn around.

Because if I did, I wasn’t sure what I would see anymore.

They brought me back the same way to my room.

No one spoke.

No one explained anything.

The silence was heavier on the way back.

Because now I understood something I hadn’t before.

There was no escaping from him, which somehow made me sick in my tummy.

The room was dark when I woke.

My throat was dry.

The silence in the house had deepened.

I sat up slowly, weak and thirsty.

Then I stood.

Walked to the door. hoping to ask one of the guards at the door. I gently knocked, but there was no response.

My fingers hesitated only for a moment before closing around the handle.

I turned it.

It moved.

Easy.

Just open.

A thin line of darkness waited beyond it. No guards in sight.

And for the first time since I had arrived in this house

I realized something I hadn’t considered before.

It wasn’t whether I could leave.

It was whether I had ever been meant to.

And I stood there.

Hand on the door.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

Because freedom doesn’t feel like escape when you’re not sure it’s allowed.

It feels like a test you haven’t passed yet.